Two lists

Things I am doing wrong*, according to my daughter:

1. Hashtags
2. Instagram
3. Using Android instead of an iPhone
4. Presuming to check in and see how the summer reading is going
5. Cheering out loud at her soccer games
6. Wanting the empty fruit snack wrappers to be in the trash
7. Making friends with her friends' parents
8. Asking her to speak to waiters 
9. Singing along to the radio when it is on her station
10. Breathing

Things I am doing right, according to me:

1. Raising my daughter.

Also, risotto.

Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown.

Gittes: A memorial service was held at the Mar Vista Inn today for Jasper Lamar Crabb. He passed away two weeks ago. 
Mrs. Mulwray: Why is that unusual?
Gittes: He passed away two weeks ago and one week ago he bought the land. That's unusual.

Somehow, this particular exchange really resonated, given that we were watching the movie outdoors in a Los Angeles cemetery.

Along with hundreds of other people (living and dead), blankets, lawn chairs, various smokeable substances, wine bottles, a DJ spinning atmospheric background music, and all kinds of picnic suppers.

The sun went down, the palm trees were silhouetted against the moon, and the side of the mausoleum lit up.

The crowd cheered as the opening credits rolled. John Huston, buried in this very spot, got an especially loud round of applause. As Morty (the coroner) says in the movie:

"Only in LA*."

Naturally, we had a theme picnic:

Carpool Wars: Battle Bolognese

Most carpools are good.

Time saving.

Gas saving.

Sanity saving.

Life saving, really.

Some carpools are great.

NPR on the radio.

Chatting.

Laughing.

Bonding.

Being a fly on the wall to the whole thing.

My carpool is exceptionally great.

Hanging out on the weekends, with the kids running around, a few bottles of wine and hilarious stories.

Grown up outings to the Hollywood Bowl.
Field trips to Hole in the Wall Burger Joint.

Jewelry.

and of course...

Cutthroat culinary competitions.

Wherein we normally gracious and laid back moms go toe to toe in the kitchen, the three families eat like kings, and my husband, the instigator*, has the last laugh and second helpings.  

Our first throw down, Battle Burger, was hard fought from the get go.  Ahi tuna burgers with homemade remoulade, hickory sliders with bacon and sharp cheddar, and burgers made from freshly ground New York steak with avocado mayonnaise.

Outwardly casual, the ladies were not playing around.  Homemade brioche? Driving over 45 minutes away to get to Huntington meats for the Silverton blend?  Purchasing prime steak and grinding it up to try and impress a couple of 12 year old judges?  

Oh yes, we did!**

After the combined votes of the kids and husbands crowned each of us a winner***, the "plating" queen suggested a rematch****:

"Bolognese sauce this time, girls?" she said, raising a glass.   We raised ours back. "You're on!"

My carpool is awesome!

Battle Bolognese - Report

Limited only by the requirement that our entry be some kind of ragu*****, I chose my weapons carefully.  Traditionally, true Bolognese sauce has things like veal and milk and celery.  Having seen the reaction among our younger judges to the fish burgers, I was going to go in a different direction.

Sausage.  Lots and lot of sausage.  

Then, a surprise substitution for the celery that would be unexpected, yet subtle.  Fennel.

Plus onions, of course.  

And my Roasted Summer Tomato Sauce, that I just happened to have on hand because I'd specially made it a few days ago.   I put the sauce in the oven and moved on to dessert.  Just in case the sausage didn't come through for me, I needed a back up plan to earn some goodwill******.

The evening arrived, and suddenly the stove was completely covered with enameled pots of incredible smelling sauces and vats of rapidly boiling salted water.  

Don't be fooled by the smiles, by the way.  These two were out to get me.  

Roasted chestnuts and fresh parsley are stirred in at the last minute in this sauce, deeply flavored with smoked ham and veal, along with cream.

The buffet opened, and the judging began.

My sausage and fennel entry

Fresh ricotta was spooned into this rich veal and beef sauce laced with porcini mushrooms, cinnamon and nutmeg.

I got out the extra large plates for the judges.

The votes were counted.

The results are announced:  

The smoky chestnut bolognese won for Taste, my entry for Creativity, and the Porcini/Ricotta platter for Presentation.

And then we had pie*******. 

And homemade S'Mores ice cream.  And salted caramel pudding with lacy pecan cookies.

No one could lift another spoonful.  Our bellies were bursting and we were practically slumped over the dining table after dessert.  Someone (probably my husband) piped up:

"Ribs?"

The chorus came back:

"You're on!"

Did I mention I love my carpool?

How I get myself invited back every year

I take Memorial Day weekend off.  The grill is cold. The doorbell does not ring.  The house is not picked up.  I sleep in.  It's fantastic.

This program is made possible by other people stepping up to the plate and hosting BBQs.  Not just regular BBQ's mind you, which are great but might not merit the state of breathless anticipation which pervades our family as this weekend approaches.  I'm talking about a BBQ where we, the fortunate attendees, get to show up and be handed fresh cherry mojitos while the host grills up a variety of gourmet sausages, slow-smoked ribs, chicken with an Asian spice rub, and burgers with all the fixings. Where we sip our drinks and enjoy a variety of homemade salsas, guacamole, and chips as we chat.  Not to mention where there are more than 10 different kinds of individually hand-packed, custom-made gourmet ice creams to choose from* to go with the warm cobbler and hot-from-the-oven caramel sugar cookies for dessert.

As Maria Von Trapp so aptly put it, somewhere in my wicked childhood, I must have done something good.

But just to be on the safe side for next year's evite, I always bring this.

Mother Lovin' Sauce

In classic French cooking, there are so-called "Mother Sauces", dating from the 1800s.  They have fancy names like "bechamel" and "veloute", and were one of the first things they taught us to make in our pro chef class.   Once you know how to make a mother sauce, you can get creative.  If you add tarragon to hollandaise, you get bearnaise.  If you add gruyere cheese to bechamel, you get mornay. There's even one where you add veal bone marrow to espagnole, and get something equally incomprehensible.

That's all fine.  But when the family's hungry on a Tuesday night, I don't turn to the Mother Sauces.  I turn to the Mother Lovin' Sauce:

I (the mother) open a jar (of sauce), add stuff (see below), and get dinner in 20 minutes.  (Lovin' that).

Mother Lovin' Sauce - A Rough Guide
There's not really a recipe here, more of a general concept.  Endless variations of the MLS are possible, and then there are, in turn, a slew of possible applications of the MLS*.

MLS basics:  Ground meat (should include sausage if at all possible), an onion, fresh or dried herbs, veggies you want your kids to eat without knowing it, a jar of starter sauce, and a "kicker" sauce to add another layer of flavor.  As you can see, it is extremely helpful to live near a Trader Joe's if you will be doing this often.  Not shown: garlic, red wine, olive oil.

Chop your onions, mince the garlic, and then chop or shred the veggies.  Rule of thumb:  the more reviled the secret veggie is, the finer you will need to chop it so they won't catch on.  Carrots blend.  Zucchini does not.

Start by browning the meat in a large pan.  Did I mention you should definitely include Italian sausage if possible?  It'll really help the flavor of your sauce.  When it's brown, drain most of the fat, and put the meat in a bowl on the side.

Add a splash of olive oil to the pan.  Give it a minute to warm up, then add the chopped onions.  I like onions, so I usually add at least a cup, maybe more.   Let those soften for a few minutes, then add the garlic.  Give that a few minutes, then stir in the veggies.   Add a good sprinkling of salt and freshly ground pepper, and a few spoonfuls of dried oregano and basil.  Note:  At this point, people may start coming into the kitchen and asking when dinner is.

Stir the meat back in, then add the jar of starter sauce.  You probably have a favorite, but if not, try a few until you do!   Add the kicker sauce, too.  This could be a tub of purchased basil or sun dried tomato pesto, or (in this case) pizza sauce.  Blending these in makes it even more "homemade" tasting, because the flavors are more complex and layered. Start by using just  half the jar/tub of kicker sauce at first, then add more if you like.  Add a generous splash of red wine.  Taste, throw in more of anything you like, then allow the sauce to simmer for a few minutes, or even longer if you have the time.  It gets better if you do.     

You can serve it immediately, on top of cooked pasta.   Really good way to go.  Or, if you feel inspired, say by a blog post with photos that made your mouth water as you were reading, you can go a step further and make a baked spaghetti dinner.

Line the bottom of a baking dish with a layer of your MLS.  In a large bowl, combine the remaining sauce with the pasta (should be undercooked by a minute or two), a generous amount of grated cheese (a combo of Trader Joe's shredded mozzarella and their Quatro Fromaggio mix works great), and some more chopped fresh basil.   Turn that mixture into the baking dish, and cover it with more shredded cheese.  Cover like a blanket.  That's how much cheese.

Bake at 350 for 25 minutes or so, until it's all gooey and bubbling.

Allow to sit for 5-10 minutes, then serve**.

* For example, Bereavement Pasta.  The sauce in that recipe is one of my favorite variations of MLS.
** If you want to move from making your family very happy to making them your slaves for life, serve The Bread on the side.  Of course, you will also then have to up your health insurance coverage, due to the extreme amount of cheese and butter involved.  

Impatience is a virtue

To quote myself:

"Store, covered, in the fridge for a week or in the freezer until the tomato plants have all died and gone away."

You could definitely do that.  Or, you could just whip that jar right back out of the fridge and make the world's greatest (and easiest) pasta dinner in about 45 minutes.

Totally your call.   Me, I couldn't wait.

Pasta with Summer Tomato (and Sausage!) Sauce

1 lb. sweet or hot Italian sausage
1 sweet onion, peeled and chopped
4 cloves of garlic, minced
1 pint Roasted Summer Tomato Sauce, or marina sauce of your choice
1/3 c. of red wine
1 Tbs. dried oregano
2 tsp. dried basil
1 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/2 tsp. red chili flakes

Optional extra veggies*:
1/2 c. shredded carrots
1/2 c. shredded zucchini
1/2 c. chopped red bell peppers
1/2 c. finely chopped mushrooms

Heat a heavy pot over medium heat.  Remove the sausage from the casings, crumble, and add to the pot.  Cook until brown, and remove from the pot.  Pour off all but a couple of tablespoons of the drippings.   Add the chopped onions and the garlic and cook until onions are translucent, about 5 minutes.   If you are adding extra veggies, add those now and cook for another few minutes.   Return the sausage to the pot.   Add the tomato sauce, the wine, the herbs, salt, and peppers.   Keep the herbs and seasonings around, because as soon as the sauce is warm, taste and adjust the flavor as you like it.   Simmer, covered for another 20-30 minutes to allow flavors to blend nicely.

While sauce is simmering, prepare pasta according to package directions.   Pick a shape that has lots of nooks and crannies for the sauce!  Finely grate some Parmesan cheese.     When all that's ready, put pasta into a shallow serving dish, cover with the sauce, sprinkle the Parmesan on top, and enjoy*.

We sure did.

* Add one, add a bunch, or skip 'em.  Again, it's your call.
** I recommend serving a salad with Noa's Caesar Dressing along with the pasta for a double whammy of weeknight supper goodness.

We both love bacon, for example

Fourteen years ago this morning, I met my son for the first time.    We liked each other right off*.   Turns out, we had a lot in common:

He was late.  I haven't been on time for anything in years.**
He loved his dad. I loved his dad.
He slept like a rock.   I adore kids who sleep like rocks.
He thought we (his parents) were hilarious. We were, in fact, highly entertaining, at least when we had a captive audience unable to escape from the receiving blanket burrito we put him in***.

Other things were completely alien:

The little boy parts.
The fascination with construction equipment, garbage trucks, and trains.
The charm he exerted on perfect strangers****.

The bizarre affinity for balls, baskets, and ESPN.

Years later, the alien stuff has either faded away (construction equipment, trains) or become old hat (ESPN, charm).  And the list of things we share and delight in (Jon Stewart, sleeping in) has grown almost as large as that little boy's feet (Size 10 1/2.  My god).
  

Happy Birthday, kiddo.

Homemade Fettuccine Alfredo
Made by special request for JP on his 14th birthday.  Pasta recipe from my cooking class, sauce modified from The Splendid Table's How to Eat Supper.  If you don't have a pasta machine or the time, you can make this with dried fettuccine pasta instead of fresh.  Use 1 lb of good quality dried pasta.  But I say you have to try making your own at least once if you can.  

For the pasta

1 c. unbleached all purpose flour
1 c. semolina flour
1 tsp. kosher salt
3 eggs
1 Tbs. olive oil

For the Alfredo sauce

6 Tbs. butter
1 c. heavy whipping cream
1 1/2 - 2 c. freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
Generous grating of fresh nutmeg
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

To make the pasta, mix the flours and the salt in the bowl of an electric mixer until blended.  Add the eggs and the olive oil, and mix until a stiff dough forms.  Turn out onto lightly floured surface and knead until it feels like very stiff play dough, about 5 minutes.   Allow to rest, covered, for at least 30 minutes.  You can throw dough into a plastic bag in the fridge for a few hours if you like.  Bring to room temperature before rolling and cutting.   Using your pasta machine, roll and cut into shapes.

 

 

Toss with flour to prevent sticking. Set aside.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.   While that's going, melt the butter in a large skillet.   When the butter has melted, set aside and cook the pasta.  If it's fresh, this will take less than 2 minutes.  For dried, follow directions on the box, but stop about a minute before the directions call for.   Pasta should still be quite firm to the bite.   Immediately drain in a colander.   Place the skillet with the butter back on the stove over medium high heat.  Add the drained pasta and the cream.  Toss to thoroughly coat the noodles.  Continue to toss for 2-3 minutes, so the cream can permeate the pasta.  There should be very little cream in the bottom of the pan.   Finally, toss in the cheese.  Start with 1 1/2 cups and add more to taste.   Toss for 20 seconds.  Season with nutmeg, salt and pepper to taste.  Garnish with additional grated cheese and serve immediately.

* More like mad crazy awestruck love on my part.  I can't speak for him, but I'm pretty sure the books say he didn't even know he wasn't me until months later, so of course he was emotionally attached.  Plus, I had the milk.
** Except most of my air travel, and my days driving carpool.  I don't want to get kicked out of my carpool.
*** This is still highly effective today.  Wrap that kid in a Slanket(TM), and he's immobilized for hours.

**** The entire crew at our local Jamba Juice knew him by name because he went wild with excitement over the blenders.  We swapped holiday cards with the store manager at the supermarket because he spent hours outside clapping every time the doors opened and closed by themselves.   He prostrated himself with grief and channeled Stanley Kowalski, wailing"I-KEY-AH!!!" as we left the big blue building, only to be comforted by random shoppers loading up their SUVs.   Don't get me started on the girl in the bakery who handed me a cookie with sprinkles for him and said, "He's gonna be a hottie when he grows up!"   I nearly reported her.
***** He learned to count by 2s because of basketball, and preferred SportCenter to Sesame Street by the age of three.

Bereavement Pasta

The ostensible reason for me getting out the casserole dish and crumbling sausage into the pot was to bring a meal to a friend whose father died over the weekend. But who was I fooling?

My niece and sister were on a plane back to Michigan, and the house was terribly quiet.

I got out two casserole dishes.

Bereavement Baked Pasta
Adapted from Seriously Simple, by Diane Rossen Worthington. This also happens to be a great dish for a completely grief-free ski vacation dinner.

1 1/2-2 lbs. spicy Italian sausage, casings removed
1 onion, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 28 oz. cans or jars of good quality marinara sauce
6 Tbs. prepared basil pesto
2 tsp. dried oregano
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
1 lb penne pasta
10 oz. Parano, smoked gouda, fontina, or mozzarella cheese, or a mix of all of them, diced
1 1/2 c. freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 c. loosely packed fresh basil leaves, chopped

Heat a large, heavy pot over medium high heat and add the sausage. Cook, breaking up with a spoon, until crumbled and no pinkness remains, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and cook for 5 more minutes, or until softened. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Add marinara sauce and oregano, then reduce heat to medium. Simmer for 10 minutes, until the sauce begins to thicken. Stir in the pesto, salt, and pepper. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Set aside.

Meanwhile, cook pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain well. Preheat the oven to 375, and get out one large (13x9) or two medium baking dishes. Spread a thin layer of the red sauce on the bottom of the pan(s).

In a large bowl, combine the pasta, the rest of the sauce, the diced cheeses, 1/2 c. of the shredded Parmesan, and the basil leaves, mixing well to combine. Spoon the mixture into the baking pan(s), and sprinkle the remaining 1 c. of Parmesan cheese on top. *

Bake for about 30 minutes, or until the casserole begins to bubble and the cheese is melted and light golden brown. Allow to sit for 5 minutes, then serve and feel a little better.



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* You can freeze or refrigerate the whole thing at this point, and it keeps beautifully. If frozen, defrost before proceeding as directed, and if it was in the fridge, allow to sit at room temperature for 30 minutes first.